He watched Tess flirt with Max. Even when she wasn't overtly flirting with Max, she was flirting with him. Her hand would rest on his arm, or her lashes would flutter as she batted her eyes, and everything Max said was either funny or profound. It was like she adored him; worshipped him until her very existence seemed to be a living shrine to Max. And instead of being happy for them, or glad they were together and not chasing other people, he noticed that Tess' smile was way too big, and her lips unnaturally large, and that despite her cute little body, her ass was just a tad too big for his liking.

But he told himself that he couldn't take his eyes off the two of them because he was attracted to Tess. And he had to be. Because if he wasn't attracted to Tess, he would be attracted to Max.

_*_*_

He sat in the stands that lined the football field, watching Max run around the track. Max ran hard, focusing as if he was preparing for something. As if he was determined to push every muscle in his body to the limit, like tomorrow he may not have it anymore. The sweat caused a slight sheen on Max's skin, and made a damp patch between his shoulders that looked like the outline of a map of India. Then Kyle spent the next few minutes trying to remember if it was India that started with a broad base and then dipped into a peak, just because it was something else to think about. He kicked his backpack with the toe of his sneaker, wondering if he had something else to look at in there. A text book. A magazine. Anything other than Max's lean body pacing steadily around the track. But he didn't.

Max stopped the second time he passed the stands and shook out his legs as he walked closer. Kyle shifted uncomfortably, grabbing his backpack and setting it upright so he could look like he was at least doing something.

"What's up?" Max asked.

"Not much."

Max grabbed the tail of his shirt, lifting it at the same time as he bowed his head and wiping his forehead with it. The movement exposed a lean, sculpted torso, perfectly tanned skin, about half a dozen body parts Kyle wanted to lick and suck and...he had to stop thinking like this.

Max smiled a little, or at least as much as Max ever smiled. "Want to come over?"

And he did. He really did.

_*_*_

When Kyle was in tenth grade, he and a bunch of his friends were parked behind a farmer's field, perched in the back of a pickup and drinking German beer they'd nabbed from someone's older brother. The topic turned to homosexuality, and fags in general, and the coolest guy in the group said in a loopy, drunken voice, "Guys can probably suck better cock, though." And when there was a slight pause, he said, "Well, when you think about it." And no one questioned or contested it, because that guy was obviously not gay. He was too...well, too cool to be gay.

Kyle didn't figure he was gay, either. But that guy in the pickup had been right about one thing. No one could suck cock like another guy.

Or, more specifically, no one could do it like Max. No one could make it feel so natural for Kyle to have his jeans tugged roughly over his hips and pulled down his legs until he kicked his feet to get them off. No one could lick with such amazing little tongue flickers, or take him as deeply and get him off as hard as Max. It wasn't like everyone in the world had given Kyle head, so he had no true basis for comparison, but he couldn't imagine anything feeling better than this.

Max sucked him until Kyle felt his legs shake, and his nerves tingle, and he could barely stand the feeling. He panted and twitched. "You might want to stop," Kyle muttered. "I'm so close now a tickle would bring me off." And when had he started sounding like a Texan?

Max rose to his knees, sitting back on his heels and staring at Kyle with those deep black eyes. He was wordless. Unaffected. Like he was doing a science project, and Kyle was the experiment. Actually, no. It was more than that. As if Max had the ability to move Kyle, to change what he was thinking or feeling just by studying him. Kyle shivered involuntarily, and wanted to break eye contact but couldn't.

And when Max told him to roll over - two simple words, spoken in that deep, authoritative voice - Kyle not only rolled over, but did so frantically.

He tried to think of Tess when Max slid into him, tried to forget that he'd done this enough times that the traces of pain had stopped three times ago. He tried to think of anything else when Max's lean, strong hips moved against him, and the rhythm made him bite his lip and grab at the pillow case.

When he came, he willed an image of Tess into his mind. It had to be Tess, because Liz had stopped working awhile ago. And if he didn't think of Tess, he'd think of Max.

_*_*_

It was some unimportant social event, akin to a third cousin's wedding or some no-name Roswell party that Kyle had to go to because of his dad. And it didn't even matter what it was for, because Max was there, and as long as Max was there, Kyle couldn't concentrate.

He danced with Tess, because he had to be nice, of course. He lowered his face toward her shoulder, focusing on inhaling her sweet perfume, which smelled like a cross between strawberries and incense, or like a dark, dangerous flower that only grew in one spot in the world. He felt Tess' hand move across his back, and felt a connection there. He wasn't even sure what it was, exactly, but their hearts seemed to be pumping in time with each other, and he felt some kind of invisible thread holding them together.

He felt Max's eyes on him, dark and probing and...leering? Not exactly. More like intensely interested. He and Tess turned a little to the music, and Kyle found himself facing Max once every six steps. He even counted them.

Their eyes met, and Max didn't smile. He never smiled.

Tess' hand moved down his back again, and something happened that was so subtle that Kyle barely noticed it. Her thumb hooked into the waist of his jeans, like it was holding her hand in place. He stiffened a little, wanted to say something but couldn't. And then he heard Tess' voice, velvety soft in his ear.

"You're a handsome guy, Kyle," she said. "There are lots of pretty girls out there for you."

Kyle almost stopped moving. "Thanks."

Tess pulled back a little and looked up at him, baby blue eyes hard and warm at the same time, like melting ice. And he saw it, crystal clear, literally staring him in the face. Get away from my man.

He froze, knowing he couldn't look nonchalant at such close range. So he pulled her against his chest again, and gripped her tighter, and allowed himself to exhale. Two more steps and he was facing Max again, and he had to close his eyes.

"You know, Tess," Kyle said, "you look beautiful tonight."

He didn't need to look at her to see the lipstick-caked smile, and the tiny squint, and that too-large mouth. "Thank you," Tess said, a hint of humor in her voice, and Kyle wanted to squeeze the life right out of her.

Five more steps and he was facing Max again. He stared at Tess' shoulder and tried not to tense.

"Lots of girls," Tess repeated, patting Kyle's shoulder. Kyle repeated it in his head with every step, until it took on a rhythm of its own. Lots of girls. Lots of girls. He thought it until he went around again, and Max wasn't there anymore.

_*_*_

Max still talked to him, but he didn't invite him over anymore. Kyle wasn't even sure why. Maybe it tied in with his conversation with Tess. It seemed odd that both things would happen in the span of a week. There was no way he was going to Max. He never had. So he walked with his head down, trying to avoid those acid-trip eyes and trying not to notice the presense that passed him, and its warm brown aura that bumped against his every time they were in the same room.

Lots of girls, he told himself, lying in bed with a sheet wrapped loosely around him, trying to make himself come as hard as he did with Max. But he knew it wasn't going to happen.